The Corporate Ladder Theory
by miairii
Summary: She is intrigue, fire, and passion. She is breathtakingly beautiful, whimsical yet real. She's also my boss. And is that my shirt she's wearing?


**A/N: **Hi all! This was my entry for the TFLN Twific Contest, with the challenge to write a OS based on up to three prompts of our choosing from the Texts From Last Night website. I chose two (see below) and their common theme gave me the idea for this story. I entered this contest hoping to get some rejuvenated motivation for writing, and certainly had a lot a fun with it! Hopefully you'll see more from me sooner rather than later (esp. as I've signed up for the Twi25 round 9 and have yet to start... urgh).

Much love to all who read, reviewed, and voted over at the contest page! And thanks again to Chocaholic123 who chose this story as her judge's favorite. :)

****Disclaimer: ****The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Prompts used:<strong>

(636): You don't understand. On her lunch break she sits on the roof, stares into the sky, and chain smokes. I can't get on her level. She is made up of java monsters with whiskey and a voice that sounds like sex.  
>(314): You need to stop crushing on your boss or fuck her.<p>

and

(229): Just checked my voicemails on the work phone on speaker. Thank you so much for the one of you screaming "COME FUCK ME NOWWWW!" my boss loved it…

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><p><strong>~ The Corporate Ladder Theory ~<strong>

It isn't a slow awakening, the kind where I gradually ease into consciousness, drawn into awareness by light or sound or hunger… or sex. It isn't a groan and a muscle-straining stretch, rubbing sleep from blurry eyes with a breezy yawn and the thought of "just five more minutes." It isn't a warm body draped over mine, the comfort of soft curves in the early light of dawn.

Nope.

Apparently it's a bolt-up-in-bed, deer-in-headlights, gaping eyes, groan at the beginning of a massive hangover kind of morning.

"What the fuck?" I ask the empty room. Not surprisingly, it doesn't answer.

I wonder fleetingly if in my state of mind last night—lack of sobriety and all that—I might have actually expected a response.

As tempting as it is to just say "fuck it" and flop back down into blissful unawareness, I'm a practical man. And as I see it, the most effective way to deal with any damage will be to figure out what exactly it is, first.

Blinking slowly to focus, I begin by surveying the room—and I'm incredibly pleased to confirm that it is, in fact, _my_ room. There isn't really much out of place; there's what looks to be a whirlwind of clothing strewn about the floor, but I don't find that too surprising since I tend to overheat whenever I over-imbibe. Looking down to check… yup, I'm stark naked under the covers.

No big deal. I'm a young, single guy who lives alone, meaning that while there's no one here to be offended by my nakedness, unfortunately there's no one here to appreciate it, either. I've got a pretty decent body; I'm no weightlifter, for sure, but running several times a week keeps me in good enough shape. It also keeps my best friend, Emmett—who works as a personal trainer—off my back. At least most of the time. He's been known to drag me down to the gym for a sparring session every now and again.

Also known as an Edward-gets-his-ass-kicked session, but who's judging? (Only every sports bra and tight yoga pant-clad woman in the gym, that's who.)

Speaking of which, since Emmett's usually the instigator behind my (infrequent, I promise) loss of memory episodes, I reach over to grab my phone to see if there's any evidence of whatever we must have done last night. The first thing I notice is the time: it's already half-past ten. I'm usually an early riser, so the lateness is somewhat surprising. It must have been quite the night for me to sleep in this late.

Scrolling through my call history, I see there was a single incoming call just after ten last night, and I find I have absolutely zero recollection of it. Looks like it was from an unknown number, and lasted 27 minutes. Shit, even my mom can barely keep me on the line for more than five, and she's really the only one who ever calls me. I honestly can't think of anyone else I'd want to talk to for that long.

Leaving that mystery for later, I move on to the text history. There are two unopened messages from Emmett, both sent around the same time as the call. I swipe the screen to open and read, but out of context as they are—as I seem to be, really—this morning, they don't make much sense.

_OMG. I can't take your wimpy pining ass any longer. Man the fuck up. –Em_

_You can't just hang on in the middle of both her ladders. Pick one and start climbing, or jump off and move on. –Em_

Ladders? Her? There is no _her_ in my life; hasn't been for a while. Ever since my ex, Irina, royally screwed with my head and my heart over a year ago, there's been nothing more than a handful of casual encounters that led nowhere. I've learned the hard way to be careful with relationships, and it wasn't until recently that I even considered putting myself out there again. Not that I've had the courage to do anything about it, yet.

Oh, hell.

That must be what Emmett means. I scroll all the way up and start from the beginning, groaning under my breath when I see what I've sent. Fucker's right—I was apparently a whining, pathetic mess last night.

_Beer and wings? –Em_

_Not tonight. –E_

_Y not? Got a hot date? Bet you can't get one hotter than me. –Em_

_Fuck off. And no, I'm not the one with the date. –E_

_Ahhh. Lover girl. AKA boss lady. She's got some new man meat? Flaunting it around the office? –Em_

_Seriously, I hate you. Why do I even tell you these things? –E_

_Because you love me? Now tell Papa Em what's wrong. –Em_

… _-E_

_Yes, she has a date. No, I don't know the guy. Yes, I want to kill him. –E_

_Probably not the best way to her heart there, my man. Tell me again why you haven't made your move yet? I've had to comfort you way too many times with Ben & Jerry's because all these other dudes keep beating you to it. –Em_

_She's too good for me. I don't deserve her. –E_

_Now that's some depressing shit. More like, she's your boss and since you actually like your stuffy office job, you don't want to risk it. –Em_

_Maybe partly. But that's not everything. She's just so fucking amazing. I can't even… -E_

_Damn, you've got it bad. I've never seen you this hung up over a girl. –Em_

_You don't understand. On her lunch break she sits on the roof, stares into the sky, and chain smokes. I can't get on her level. She is made up of java monsters with whiskey and a voice that sounds like sex. –E_

_You need to stop crushing on your boss or fuck her. –Em_

_I mean it, dude. This cannot continue. Step away from the girly flavored vodka I know you're sipping and wipe that pout off your face. You need to go get laid. –Em_

_Well she doesn't fucking want me, so where does that leave me? Some random hookup from a bar? Been there, done that, no thanks. –E_

_How do you know she doesn't want you? You haven't actually asked her. –Em_

_I want to meet her, by the way. See the lady that gets you all twisted up and mushy. I mean, did you even read what you just sent me? "Java monsters with whiskey"? What the hell is that, anyway? –Em_

_I haven't bothered asking because her attitude screams friend zone. There is no hope there, I'm telling you. –E_

_And no, you absolutely cannot meet her. I still haven't forgotten that damn voicemail you left me at work. –E_

_HAHAHAHAHA –Em_

_That was epic! –Em_

_No, that was mortifying. She was right fucking there. I couldn't even look her in the eye for a week after that. I really don't blame her for steering clear of me. –E_

_Didn't you try and explain it to her? Girl's gotta have a sense of humor to be worth all this drama. –Em_

_And just how would that conversation go? "No really, Bella, that was just my jerk of an EX-friend; I swear I'd never actually leave work early to go pound a guy in the ass… By the way, how about dinner and a movie?" –E_

_Who said you would be the one doing the pounding? ;) -Em_

_Notice the emphasis on EX in my last text. –E_

_Ok, ok, my bad. Look just… TRY and ask her out. Do it nice and gentlemanly, like I know you will, the way your momma raised you. What do you really have to lose? –Em_

_My dignity, my self-esteem, my job? –E_

_So, nothing that important is what you're saying. –Em_

_Dammit Em, I really do like this job. I liked it before Bella even came over from the main office, and since I know we're never going to be more than friends, I'd like to keep it so I can at least see her sometimes. –E_

_OMG. I can't take your wimpy pining ass any longer. Man the fuck up. –Em_

_You can't just hang on in the middle of both her ladders. Pick one and start climbing, or jump off and move on. –Em_

Having circled back around to the end of the conversation, I'm feeling more than enough mortification for both my current self and last night's apparently drunk-on-pity-party self. Resisting the urge to throw my phone across the room, I settle for pushing it over to the opposite end of my nightstand, out of reach. Clearly, it is a dangerous weapon with which I am in no condition to be trusted.

Dropping my head back onto the pillows with a sigh, I throw an arm over my eyes, blocking out the light and wishing I could block out reality, as well. Some snippets of memories from the previous day have started coming back after reliving my correspondence with Emmett, and I think back on how the whole thing started.

My unhealthy obsession with one Isabella Swan.

Bella, as she likes to be called, was transferred in as our department manager after the _incident_ with James several months back. We were all a little apprehensive at first—past precedent wasn't much to go on, after all—but it quickly became clear there was no need to worry. At least, there were no immediate concerns about once again having our boss carted out in handcuffs in the middle of working hours.

_Of course I wouldn't mind seeing her restrained, off the clock and in private…_

The only thing that really changed was that instead of having to do everything by ourselves, we now had someone competent to keep the entire group running smoothly. And _competent_ is just one of the many compliments flying around the office nowadays. When it comes to Bella, there's no end to her praises. And they are well-earned.

She is uncompromisingly honest in her assessments, but never rude or discouraging. She's strict, but only when it really matters, for making deadlines and overall quality. She doesn't hesitate to interact with the staff, expertly straddling the line between professional and personal. Her easy rapport with every single person in our office is astounding.

Every single person, except me.

We do speak on occasion; though never, it seems, with the same level of comfort she exudes around everyone else. It's not that I feel she judges or treats me any differently. On the contrary, I suspect the majority of the hesitance is on my end of the relationship.

See, I'm pretty sure I fell in love with her at first sight.

It was the middle of the week after James left, and we were all floundering our way through the ongoing projects. Tensions had been steadily rising, and so, citing a need for fresh air, I escaped to my hangout on the roof. There's this perfect spot that gives just enough shelter from the wind, while affording what I believe is the most panoramic view of the city for miles around. It had long been my favorite thinking spot, and not once had anyone disturbed me there, so imagine my surprise when I rounded the corner to find a mysterious dark-haired beauty in my place. I somehow managed to silence my gasp, and took the opportunity to observe her before she noticed me.

Even from her awkward position, crouched low to the ground, there was no denying she was absolutely gorgeous. Sensational curves—sadly covered by a smart-looking pant suit—waves of rich mahogany flowing down her back, and the poise of a woman self-assured. She was facing away from me, out towards the skyline, so I couldn't take in her eyes or her expression. But something struck me in that moment—the wind caressing stray wisps at her hairline, the set of her shoulders, the trails of smoke blending lazily out into the city smog from the cigarette poised casually in her left hand.

I have never been a fan of smoking, but that was the first time I thought it might be just a little bit sexy.

I stood and watched for several minutes, timed by the glow of ash and the arc of the sun across the midday sky. Eventually her cigarette burned down to just a stub, and as she leaned over to stamp it out, she must have caught me in the corner of her vision. Her head turned sharply my way, soulful brown eyes widening as they took me in. Neither of us spoke a single word, simply observing each other.

Much too soon, our peaceful silence was broken by a soft melodic chime from her phone, and her gaze turned almost apologetic as she moved to check it. I took a deep breath—had I even been breathing the entire time our eyes were locked?—and my heart sank as she rose to her feet. She paused to offer a shy smile my way, and before I knew it she was gone.

It wasn't until the next morning that I learned she was my new boss. I couldn't help a small smirk when her eyes lit up with recognition at our introductory meeting. We shook hands, and I barely held in the shiver of delight that raced down my spine at the feel of her soft skin on mine, and the way her plump pink lips wrapped around my name with a sultry rasp.

A blink of an eye and the moment passed; she was back to business and I was left standing in her wake.

Since then, I have remained in the background, again observing but not getting too close; eagerly learning as much as I can about her, but on my own. I watch her interaction with others, but my favorite is when I occasionally catch her up on the roof in my spot, staring off into the sky. As she's never taken the initiative to approach me, either, somewhere along the way I've managed to convince myself that it's better this way.

Better to just watch, and not touch. Better to keep my heart safe from someone who easily could have the power to break it—or to make it fly. Better to stay far enough away—emotionally and physically—that she doesn't notice how my cock twitches every time she walks by in those tight fitted skirts… or how my fists clench every time she chats with her secretary about her evening plans. Plans with other men.

Bella doesn't date that often—that I'm aware of, at least—but the few events she chooses to share with her friends in the office, well… I can't help but wish she were that excited about an evening spent in my company. Maybe it would be a romantic dinner out, or taking in a movie together, or wrapping my arms around her to show her just the right way to swing a bat. Maybe she'd come to my place to cook dinner, as she'd soon learn I'm helpless in the kitchen.

Maybe, after the slow and sweet realization of many other maybes, she'd be blushing as she stands in my bedroom doorway, dressed only in my shirt, her hands fidgeting nervously with the too-long sleeves as she works up the courage to whisper…

"Edward?"

"Holy fuck! I mean, shit, sorry, I mean… wait, _Bella_?"

My hands flail through the air as I lurch upright again, my eyes searching and quickly confirming that my imaginary vision of Bella in my bedroom was not so imaginary, after all. She's really standing right there. In person. In the flesh.

In my shirt.

My favorite blue button-down, which I'm pretty sure is what I wore to work yesterday. And while I've been told before that it makes my eyes pop, there's simply no describing how it looks on her. Once again, she steals my breath and my heart with a single glance.

And I can't help but wonder, is that the only thing she's wearing? Because from where I'm sitting I can only see miles and miles of toned, silky legs…

So I stare. And stare. And continue staring, until she clears her throat softly to break me from my trance. Embarrassed, I rub my palms over my face and through my hair, tugging sharply to regain my focus. In the few seconds this takes me, I notice that Bella also appears to be having a hard time focusing. Her eyes are darting every which way, from the wall to my face to my lap to the floor…

_Fuck!_

I yank the sheets back up to cover my waist, barely managing to resist the urge to burrow completely under and hide my face as well. Though my chest is still bare, I must subconsciously recognize the ridiculous poses which might be required to fix that, and remain upright. Mortified doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling right now, particularly with the effect her appearance has had on my morning wood…

Exhaling sharply, I finally attempt to get myself under control. She's still hovering in the doorway, looking more unsure than I've ever seen—but just as exquisite as always—and I really need to find out what the fuck is going on.

Why is she here? My boss, who is so much more to me than a boss and who I really want to be my best friend, my lover, and my everything.

"Um… Bella? What—what's going on?"

Her eyes finally dart back to mine, and I see relief mixed with… confusion? "Ah, I guess I wasn't expecting you to be up yet. I was, um, hoping to get dressed. Could I borrow something to wear home? I promise I'll wash it and return it to you good as new. Only you know I can't exactly wear my dress back…"

Her rambling cuts off as she glances to the side, my eyes following hers over to the easy chair in the corner. There's a dress lying on it—clear as day, how did I miss that before?—but I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that. I've never seen Bella look less than put together, and this dress… it's ripped and tattered.

"Oh my god. What happened to your dress? Shit, did I do that? How did I do that? I'll repay you. Definitely. No, wait, are you ok? Why… what…?" All evidence points to at least some of this being my fault, and I'm pretty close to a breakdown, but my frantic word vomit trails off when I hear a soft chuckle. Amazingly, in the time it took me to have a total freak-out, Bella actually seems to look more relaxed. She's not fidgeting as much and there's a soft smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"Do you not remember what happened last night?" Her tone is indulgent, patient.

Truthfully, my mind has been whirling since I first saw her, and again, small bits and pieces have come floating back as they did after reading Emmett's texts. However, I'm pretty sure the pieces are all out of order: there are flashes of laughter, pounding music, pounding shots, me in a cab with my phone to my ear, me in a dark room watching… is that Lifetime on TV?

"No, not really. Ah, I seem to recall a little bit but it's not making much sense. And my head is killing me—"

Before I even finish the sentence she's by my side, two small pills and a bottle of water in her outstretched hands. I just stare at her again as I try to figure out how she pulled those out of thin air.

"I'm sorry for looking through your things, but I had a feeling you'd need these. I did, too, so…"

I gratefully accept her offerings, quickly gulping down the pills with half the water. The cool liquid does wonders for my heavy head, and instantly I feel more awake and alive. I'm also now able to recognize the familiar tingling in the side of my body nearest to Bella; the feeling that she's nearby, the urge to reach out and touch her.

I don't know how much longer I can ignore it.

I pat the bed beside me, silently inviting her to sit. After just a moment's hesitation, she sinks down onto the edge, folding one leg beneath her so she can face me. I take just a few seconds to revel in our newfound closeness and the intimacy of our position before speaking softly.

"Tell me, please?" I implore. Based on what I've seen so far, it doesn't seem like last night is something I'd ever want to forget. For good or for bad. And also, thankfully, it appears she doesn't hate me for whatever I've done.

"Well, I was out last night. Riley was supposed to meet me, but he got held up, so—"

"Riley?" I can't help my interruption. It's not like I have any claim over her, but just knowing she has a date and actually knowing the guy's name and that he stood her up, well, it makes my blood boil.

"Yeah. My brother? He's the second oldest."

My mind gets stuck on the word _brother_. Her brother? She was gushing at the office about a date with her brother? Now I'm filled with both relief and curiosity, because I start to wonder just how many of her other "dates" were actually more like family hangouts.

"Sorry, you have a brother? More than one?" I'm always eager to learn more about her.

"Five, actually," she laughs. My jaw drops. "I know, right? Only the youngest, Seth, still lives at home—he's a junior in high school. It's really hard to get them all in the same place at once so I try to see them whenever they can make it into town."

She looks wistful for a moment, and I can't image that type of feeling, as I'm an only child. Emmett's been kind of like a brother—we practically grew up going back and forth between each other's houses—but at the end of the day it was always just me and my parents.

Suddenly less apprehensive about the rest of her story, I prompt her to continue. "So, Riley couldn't make it?"

"He had an urgent client meeting he couldn't get out of. So I decided I'd just stay and have a drink on my own, but…"

Bella trails off and glances back towards my chair. The tightness around her eyes as she remembers brings a sinking feeling to my stomach. Acting on impulse, I grab her hand, rubbing my thumb in what I hope are soothing circles over her knuckles. I can't help but notice there's a slight redness there, and I lift her hand to get a closer look.

"Long story short," she rushes out, "some idiot got handsy in the bar and wouldn't take no for an answer. I managed to get away from him but not before my dress took a beating. So I hid out in the bathroom and I… um—"

"You called me," I finish for her. She nods slowly.

The fragments of my memories have started piecing back together. I was sitting at home, wallowing in my misery at the thought of Bella out on another date. I pulled out the vodka—okay, so Em was right—and flipped on the TV. Next thing I knew, I was three tissues deep into a Lifetime movie and the ringing of my phone startled me into falling off the couch. I was even more surprised at what I heard on the other end. The beautiful voice of the beautiful woman I was head over heels for. Asking _me_ for help.

It wasn't even a question of me coming to get her. Thankfully, I recognized I was too buzzed to drive, so I started walking and hailed the first cab I could find.

"I stayed on the line with you while I got a ride over," I recall. "I gave you my shirt to cover up and we snuck out the back. You didn't want to be alone, so I offered to bring you here instead of going back to your place."

Bella nods again. "We found your vodka and well, the rest is history." My eyes widen comically, and she giggles, slapping me lightly on the arm. "Not like that!"_ Dammit._ Although I would want to remember… _that_. "We made up a drinking game to some shitty Lifetime move and got totally hammered. I passed out on the couch and I guess you made it back in here at some point."

"How do you remember all of this so clearly? Didn't you have just as much to drink?"

"I guess I'm used to it? With three older brothers, you kind of have to learn to hold your own."

I'm learning so many new things, and finding that they just serve to deepen my affection for this woman. She has all sorts of different expressions and attitudes that I've never before experienced, and I want to keep on finding them. I want to be the only one who can coax out that silly smile, who can comfort her when she's shaken up, who can be the one she turns to in need. Which makes me wonder. After everything that happened last night, there's one important thing that I really, really need to know.

"Bella… why did you call me? I mean, you have family in town, friends you're close to. Why me?"

It didn't bother me last night, but since I've been reminded it's driving me crazy. I have to know if there's any possible chance she could feel even a fraction of what I feel for her.

She ducks her head at my question, and a rosy blush quickly engulfs her cheeks. Gently, I reach out and lift her chin with a finger, wanting to see the truth in her eyes.

She takes a steadying breath in. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"You were the first person I thought of," she admits quietly, and my heart swells with love and with blossoming hope. "I wanted to hear a comforting voice, and someone who makes me feel safe. I wanted someone who would know what to do and would think about me while doing it. And I thought… I hoped that might be you."

Her next words are barely a whisper, and I'm so thankful I'm close enough to hear them. "I'm always thinking about you."

Again she can't meet my eyes, looking sheepish and unsure of herself, and I can't have that. That's not the passionate, fiery woman I pray every day will look my way. I give her my gentlest smile—the one reserved just for her—and hope she can read in it everything I'm not saying. And I give her a little piece of myself, as well.

"I think about you, too. All the time, Bella."

Her breath hitches and she finally meets my gaze. A long moment passes between us. It's like we're back on that roof all those months ago—watching, waiting, hoping.

Only this time, I won't just wait for her to walk away from me.

As if it were choreographed, we move as one, surging together to meet in the middle. She rises to her knees as I lean forward, my hands moving to her waist and hers encircling my neck as if this were only one of many embraces between us. Our foreheads touch and we pause, short breaths mingling in the infinitesimal gap between our lips. I steady my heart and prepare to ask, just one last time, if this is what she really wants. And if she says yes, I know I'll be all-in. I will belong to her, completely.

"Bella—"

"_Please_," she begs, and I'm gone.

My mouth meets hers, pressing, sliding, mapping out the soft contours I've only ever dreamed of touching. She grips me to her, matching my intensity and drawing a groan from my chest when I feel her tongue tentatively swipe across my bottom lip. I open for her and we're battling for dominance, tasting and exploring each other for the first time. I slide one hand up her back, delighting in the feeling of her body shuddering beneath my touch, and tangle my fingers into the hair at her neck. Using this new leverage, I take control of the kiss for several minutes, then tilt her head to the side to rain soft nips and kisses down the side of her neck as we both gasp for breath. When I reach the collar of her shirt—_my_ shirt daring to cover up her gorgeous body—I dip my tongue underneath, trailing along the sensitive dips of her collarbone.

Lifting my head back up I press one, two, three soft kisses across her cheeks and the tip of her nose, slowing us back down until we're smiling against each other's lips. I can't remember ever feeling so lighthearted and happy, and my grin widens when I pull back to take in her expression. She's flushed and excited, her eyes bright and matching her own grin.

I know we have a lot to talk about, but for now…

I kiss her again, just because I can.

And I vow to keep that smile on her face for the rest of our lives.

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><p><strong>If anyone might be thinking that the ending is slightly abrupt, here's the deal: I wrote the last ~3000 words of this entry the day submissions were due (the extended deadline, mind you), and literally hit "send" 2 minutes before the cutoff. LOL. Love to live dangerously... or not. I did really want to see this one through, as I loved the contest idea and the prompts, so I'm glad I was able to pull it together somewhat at the end. Wouldn't mind continuing with these two a little more... but based on how LBS is going, I can't make any promises. Maybe someday?<strong>

**Thanks so much for reading!**

**xo**


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